Come What May
by Nadya-child
Summary: So she's an old friend of Duncan's. So what? That shouldn't concern Methos one iota...except for that tickling sensation in the back of his brain. This girl is going to be a handful, and he knows it.
1. A Hopeless Time?

**Feedback**—Comments and advice are welcome. Flames and outright threats on my life are a waste of your breath and my time, as they will not be read nor considered. So, do yourself a favor, and just don't. Thanks!

**Disclaimer**-- Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Joe Dawson, and all such wonderful characters certainly do NOT belong to me. They merely show up in my life now and again and whisper stories in my ear. Especially Methos, he loves to get me into situations of obsession that I then have to "write my way out of". I think it amuses him. But, so as to avoid any legal banter, these characters belong to people with LOTS more money and LOTS more lawyers than me (seeing as I am a poor college student). Any other characters belong to _amin_ (I). So bravo to Davis & Panzer and on with the story!

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Chapter 1

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"Opera, opera, opera. MacLeod, after all the time we've known each other, you still haven't developed a taste in music." Methos tossed several CD cases down onto the desk he was sitting on.

Duncan MacLeod just grunted from the couch where he reposed behind a Tolstoy novel. Just then, the phone rang!

Before Duncan could put down his book, Methos had hopped up and grabbed the phone. "Hello."

"Methos, give me the phone," Duncan said but Methos held him at arm's length with one hand. They were like two kid brothers fighting over the phone, Methos constantly switching the receiver from hand to hand while he talked and keeping MacLeod at bay with the other.

"Hi, can I speak to Duncan, please?" A young female voice wafted over the phone line.

"Sure thing. Here you are, Mac. It's a giiiiiiiiiirl!" Methos relinquished the phone, drawing out the word "girl" like a teasing child, and resumed his perch atop the desk.

"Shut up!" Mac took the phone. "MacLeod."

"Duncan, it's Nadya Jamesson."

"Oh, hello, Nadya. How are you?"

"I'm just fine, thanks. Who was that who answered the phone?"

"That? Oh, that's just my friend Adam. He's a big pain in the behind."

Behind him, Methos put his tongue in his cheek and rolled his eyes, stretching his long legs out and sliding down to sprawl on the loveseat.

"So, Nadya. How have things been?" Duncan plopped onto the couch again.

"Things have been good, I'm graduating from university with honors next month and wanted to call you since I'll be back in town soon. Perhaps we could see each other, since I haven't seen you since…"

"…since you were a wee bairne." Duncan finished with a laugh, letting his Scotch brogue pour through.

"I wasn't that 'wee'. I was 13 years old. You're the one who's been world-hopping since then."

"That's true." The Scot conceded. "Well, come by whenever you like, Nadya. I'd love to see you again."

The two talked for a while longer and then Duncan hung up the phone.

Methos was staring at him, smirking. "Robbing the cradle in our old age, are we, MacLeod?" He cocked his head to one side in that annoyingly charming way that he had.

Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos. "This from the man with 67...no, 68 wives?" He put the receiver back on the charger.

"69," Methos corrected him. "You forgot Alexa."

Silence. Then Duncan continued.

"For your information, Nadya is the daughter of some really good friends of mine, adopted. They were killed a few years ago in a car accident on their way home from visiting her at university. She's been amazing, recovering from it and moving on." With a sigh, he fell back onto the couch again. "She's about…oh, 21 now. It has been a long time."

Methos just smirked again and jumped up from the loveseat. "You go ahead and reminisce, MacLeod. _I'm_ gonna get a beer." With that, he strolled to the fridge.  
  
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Sunlight streamed through the trees in the park, the warmth lulling an old Immortal as he lay stretched out on the grass. Duncan was nearby, moving fluidly in a graceful kata.

The park was nearly empty early on this Thursday morning. It was only 10am but the sun was already high and warm and it was quickly putting Methos back to sleep, as was the whisper of grass beneath MacLeod's feet.

After a while, Methos pushed himself up onto his elbows, his black T-shirt rippling around his stomach as he bent one of his legs up at the knee, watching MacLeod.

"Mac, are you quite finished?" he almost whined, enjoying his attempt at breaking Duncan's concentration.

"No." The answer was low but definite. Duncan never broke a line of fluidity.

With a groan, the old Immortal sank back down on the grass.

"I learned long ago that you never interrupt Mac during his katas." A voice sounded as Duncan completed his meditations.

It would figure that only a woman could break MacLeod's concentration. She had been watching, silently. So quietly that even paranoid Methos hadn't noticed her. She was indeed about 21 years of age (though she looked rather like a kid to Methos), skin of milk chocolate, eyes like fresh earth and forest, a greenish-hazel unlike any Methos had ever seen, and long hair that fell in ripples, pinky-thick ringlets, about her shoulders—ebony black—harnessed by a pair of black, plastic-rimmed sunglasses set back atop her head. The cool morning wind flailed a soft denim skirt, split on both sides, around her legs, which were half hidden by the black, knee-high boots she wore. Her sky-blue, fitted peasant top matched beautifully with her skin complexion, lacing flirtatiously with the soft cords criss-crossing over her back.

Duncan's face broke into a huge smile, his dimples showing. "Nadya!" He rushed to the young woman, grabbing her up into his arms.

She was a small, petite thing of about 5'4 at the tallest but there was strength of form in her lithe figure that impressed even the jaded Methos. Even so, there was something about her that set the base of his spine sparking. He'd felt something like it before, though not terribly often. It set his nerves on edge but he masked it behind a well-practiced façade of lethargy.

He rose to his feet as Duncan set Nadya down on her feet again, commenting that she was indeed no longer a "wee bairne".

Nadya just laughed and commented that Duncan hadn't seemed to age at all. "Is there a Fountain of Youth that I don't know about, Mac?"

Methos just chuckled to himself. She was an astute one. The sound of his voice made her look beyond Duncan and spot the handsome young man with the smirking mouth.

"And who's this?"

Duncan turned, leading her over to Methos. "Nadya Jamesson, this is my friend Adam Pierson, the idlest man you'll ever meet."

One hand on her hip, Nadya looked Methos up and down, seeming to give him the third degree. But she didn't say anything; instead, she began to circle him, still looking up and down, as though she were inspecting a stallion. Her keen eyes roved over the slim swimmer's build, long legs, strong back, and arms crossed defensively over his chest. The 5,000-year-old Immortal suddenly felt like he was up for enlistment or something of the like.

Methos turned his head, following her, and cocked an eyebrow at MacLeod. Duncan just shrugged as Nadya circled.

Finally, she came to rest at Duncan's side again. "Not bad, Mac. He's cute. But he's not the same one you had around when I last saw you. That one was a redhead, wasn't he?"

Methos saw the pain cross the Highlander's face and felt a hurt inside his heart.

"He died a few years ago." Duncan's voice was low, sad, and it was not lost on Nadya.

She turned to him, her eyes saying more than was appropriate for her voice at that place and time. Duncan's own replied fathoms.

She quickly returned her attention to Methos, who still stood matching the young lady's posture with arms crossed over his chest. She stared at him, that one slender eyebrow piqued quietly, quite an imposing look for such a petite woman.

Then, suddenly, her face broke into a huge smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Adam!" She held out a small, slender hand.

His own face splitting in a cordial smile, Methos gave her hand a firm shake. "Any friend of Mac's."

Withdrawing her hand, Nadya looked up at him again. "So, the idlest man I'll ever meet, eh?"

"Not really. I'm a…student of nature," Methos replied, and paused, his chin coming up momentarily as he took a breath. Duncan immediately knew by his air that he was about to make some philosophical and obscure reference.

"Really? Seeking the answers to the universe?" Nadya inquired.

"Aren't we all? _'All that is needed to discover is the laws of nature; then man will no longer be answerable for his actions and life will be incredibly easy.'_ " Methos quoted drolly, his hands clasped before him. His body bent a little at the waist, his head inclining towards Nadya as he finished.

She smiled triumphantly. "Dostoyevsky. You are a scholar, it would seem." With that she reached up, pulling a blade of grass from his dark hair and completely disarming the seriousness of his stance.

Methos knit his brows together as she reached up to his head and then returned his gaze to her as she flicked the grass from her fingers before continuing.

"_'However, of course, it is impossible to guarantee that life will not become, let us say, dreadfully boring.' _"

The 'old man' returned her smile, his momentary surprise dissipating underneath a wave of handsome, witty charm. "Also Dostoyevsky. The same novel, in fact."

"Indeed, the same page. Notes from Underground."

At this, Duncan just laughed. "I think you've met your match, my friend." With this, he clapped Methos on the back. "Come on, Nadya. I'll bet you haven't had breakfast yet." With that, the three moved on.

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Duncan soon found that Methos and Nadya were evenly matched mentally, though Methos did have the advantage of 4,980 years' more experience. But Nadya was strongly based literarily and the banter continued all through brunch. So much so that Duncan could hardly get a word in edgewise.

"Now that's simply ridiculous, to place Louisa May Alcott on the same level with Flaubert," Methos sneered over his coffee mug.

"No, it is not, Adam, and I'll tell you why. Alcott took the descriptive style of such authors as Flaubert and Goethe and made it accessible to children. That's why I'm where I am today." Nadya accented her point by jabbing her fork at Methos' chest.

"Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing, chickie. Ouch!" He suddenly rubbed his arm where she had finally poked him with the fork.

Duncan snickered. "Don't call her _chickie._"

"Yeah, too little too late, MacLeod." Methos glowered, looking at Nadya who ate calmly, as though nothing had happened. "I hope you didn't draw blood."

"Why? All you'll need is a tetanus shot, won't kill you." Nadya just grinned good-naturedly.

Mac smiled again. "You've certainly grown up, Nadya. Do you have lodgings?"

"No, the house was sold after Mom and Dad died. I was going to stay in a hotel until I found a small place."

"That settles it, you're staying with me."

Nadya shook her head. "No, Duncan."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't get away with 'babysitting' me."

"She's got a point, MacLeod. We don't want people thinking you're robbing the cradle." Methos garnered himself a kick in the leg for that little remark.

"Well, at least let me set you up. I have a few friends…"

Nadya laughed. "Why does that not surprise me? OK, Highlander, have your own way, since I know you won't give up 'til you do."

Methos laughed. "Yes, he can be quite a…let's see…how shall I put this? I'm thinking of an animal…four legs, carries heavy weights..."

"Donkey?" Nadya posed.

"No, try three letters," Methos replied leadingly.

At his implication, Nadya laughed and Duncan glowered as his own words were turned on him.

As Nadya's musical laugh soon subsided and she returned to her brunch, Methos smiled quietly to himself. He liked this young woman; she was a challenge. He was always one for a challenge, every now and again.

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Though Duncan had done his best to dissuade her, Nadya had parted with the two Immortals and gone back to her hotel while Methos and Duncan headed back to the loft. Duncan was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked, almost brooding.

After the silence had far surpassed uncomfortable and bordered on maddening, Methos broke it. "OK. What is it, MacLeod? What have I done?" he drolled, figuring he must have done _something_.

"You were flirting with her," came the taut reply.

"What?"

Duncan stopped walking, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. "You heard me, you were _flirting_ with Nadya, Methos."

"Come on, MacLeod!" Methos rolled his eyes again dramatically, throwing back his head and arching his back in a gesture of helplessness, his hands stuck firmly in his own coat pockets. The shaded lane was a tad chilly and his old hands had recently become sensitive to the cold for some reason.

"You were!"

"OK, fine. So what if I was flirting a little, what's wrong with that? She is 21 years old!"

"And you are 5,001, Methos!"

The other Immortal shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything? She doesn't know that!"

"No, she doesn't. And she never will!" Duncan then set off, walking at a fierce pace.

Now he had Methos worried. Mac never blew up without a reason. Hurrying to catch up, he inquired, "What's gotten you so wired, MacLeod? You're tighter than the springs in a grandfather clock."

"Don't tell me that you, an Immortal and a "student of nature", can't figure it out." Duncan stalked on.

_Ouch! _ Methos winced, his hands clenching somewhat in his coat pockets. But he said nothing.

Duncan was silent for several paces and then he stopped again. "She's Immortal, Methos. At least…she will be…someday…if someone kills her before her time."

Methos cocked his head to the side again, staring at Duncan. The Scot was right; Methos now placed that feeling. It was indeed that faint signature of a would-be Immortal.

_After all these years, you'd think I'd be able to place it by now._

"You really think she's an Immortal-in-waiting?" This he said out loud to MacLeod. No need to let the Highlander know everything that went on in his head.

Duncan nodded and sat down on the stone edging of a nearby fountain. "I've known ever since the first day I met her and her parents, when she was two years old. When you've been around them long enough, you learn to sense a would-be signature. And Nadya has one."

Methos shrugged. "So what's the problem? If she's to be an Immortal, then she will. It's the Game. You'll teach her." He was never one to be complacent about the horrors of the Game but he also knew that he couldn't avoid it anymore.

"No! She is never to know about the Game, she is never to be a part of the Game!" Duncan had suddenly grown vehement. He then hung his head, his hands clenching his knees till his knuckles whitened.

"I've seen what happens when Immortals-in-waiting become full Immortals. Especially now. They don't get it; they think it's all fun and games. At least in the old days, there was the reverence for superstition and power. Now it's all a game." He then sniffed and half-laughed at the irony of his own words. "Even if they take it seriously, it's too dangerous a time to learn. It's hard to know who to trust and who to kill."

Methos could almost see the memories of Richie fluttering behind Duncan's eyes as he sat next to his friend.

"Nadya's better than that; she deserves better. She has hope; hope to be with her family again when she dies someday. That's why I want her close by, then I can keep an eye on her; keep her alive. If I can keep her from being killed before her time, she can live a free life and die a happy old woman, never know about Immortals or taking heads or centuries of loneliness, guilt, and regret."

Methos shook his head. "Again, you are being existentially inaccurate. There's no way you can protect Nadya forever. How would you explain your never aging while, daily, she grows older? Hmm? That Fountain of Youth? I think not! If the Game wants her, MacLeod, it's going to take her, whether you try to stop it or not. Though I can understand why you'd try to prevent it."

Duncan straightened and stretched out his hand as though he were holding a choice in his palm. "How could I tell her that, unless someone kills her, chops off her head, she has no hope of seeing her family again? How can I destroy her hope?"

Methos stood up, his hands in his pockets again, and sighed, white petals from nearby apple-blossoms giving his dark hair a rather mock halo. "No one is asking you to do that, MacLeod. You can make a difference in the world, yes. But save everyone? Protect everyone? No. Believe me, you're not an archangel, and you are definitely not Jesus Christ. I've met Him; He was taller than you. Higher cheekbones."

With that, Methos began to walk towards the flat again. "If you want me, I'll be at your place, having a beer. All this philosophical talk has me parched."

Duncan soon sighed, shook his head and followed the beer-intent Immortal. He needed one himself, before his fridge was empty.


	2. Immortal Beauty

Author's Note: The name 'Malfoy' has absolutely nothing to do with J.K. Rowling's character. I didn't even know such a characters existed when I wrote this story. Thanks!

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Chapter 2

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"So, apparently, he got angry that his canvas knife had been moved—he was quite the neat freak—and while he was raving angrily, he accidentally sliced off his own ear. And _that's_ how Van Gogh lost his ear."

Methos smiled triumphantly at this airing of his knowledge and experience, under the guise of finding it in his research at Harvard. Of course, he knew it was true; he had been there, Van Gogh had been screaming at _him_ for moving the knife.

Nadya laughed. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, Adam!"

Methos raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Because everyone knows that he was crazy, that's why!" she replied, walking backward so she was still facing him.

They were on their way back from looking at new apartment that Duncan had set up for her. Mac had to work so Methos had taken Nadya over to see it. It was a comfy place, a split-level studio, nice design. She had liked it and thought to accept it to make Duncan happy.

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Hidden amongst the swirling crowd of people on the street, two sharp gray eyes watched them, watched Nadya.

"What a nice choice, MacLeod. She'll make a lovely addition to the Game," he muttered to himself, one finger sliding along the flat of the elegant knife that he carried, "To _my_ game."

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Soon, Methos and Nadya broke from the crowd and turned down a cobblestone alley to make their way back to the dojo. They laughed and smiled together; Methos hadn't laughed like that for a long time and Nadya called him on it.

"You laugh as though it's something you don't get enough of, Adam," she commented, looking up at him.

Another smile dimpled Methos' face as his head lowered for a moment. "Not much to laugh about in the world these days."

Nadya slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, shaking it a bit like a child might. "Oh, that's not true. After all, I find our banter a lot to laugh about."

As they neared, Methos suddenly felt a telltale surge shoot up his spine and bounce around in his head. An Immortal was nearby.

Suddenly, a man slunk from within an open doorway ahead of them. "What a pretty picture, such a shame to spoil it," he sneered as Methos and Nadya stopped. Just then, the sunlight glinted in Methos' eyes, catching the reflection of something metal: a knife!

_Oh, great!_ Methos scowled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but we don't have anything." He knew the Immortal didn't want to rob them but he wouldn't let on to the Game before Nadya.

The stranger twiddled the knife between his fingers menacingly as his oily gaze glided from Methos to Nadya. "Then, perhaps, I shall take something of value from the lady." His implication was clear, his smile lewd.

Methos' arm quickly shot out in front of Nadya, blocking the man's path though he was a good few yards from them. "I don't think so. I don't know who you are, pal, but you'd better just leave."

_What am I doing? This guy could take my head! But I can't let him hurt her! If I did, MacLeod would kill me!_

The man just continued to stare at Nadya. "Such beauty, immortal beauty." His voice was low, glowering. "Well, perhaps not Immortal yet, but I can make it so. I will make it so."

Methos stepped forward. "Stay away from her!" His hand burned for his sword, hidden within his coat, but something within him made him want to keep MacLeod's resolve to protect Nadya's mortality and innocence.

"Oh, surely, sir. I had no intention of getting any closer." The knife was twirled so that the stranger held the tip of the blade between his fingers.

A shot sparked through Methos' brain. _No!_

"Nadya, look out!" He suddenly turned his back to the stranger, grabbing Nadya against his chest and covering her.

Everything happened so quickly. A shriek broke from Nadya's throat as a bloody knifepoint stuck out before her eyes, stuck out from Methos' chest!

"ADAM!" She suddenly froze as she heard a sickening gasp come from Methos, his arms loosening from about her.

Her screams grew more frantic and hysterical as he fell to the ground, the knife handle sticking out from the left side of his back! "No, no! Help, please! Someone, help!!"

Not far away, sitting next to his open office window, Duncan heard a faint sound but it was unmistakable: a woman's scream! Leaping from his chair, he swept out the door and down the street towards the cry. He finally found the source; Nadya was on her knees on the ground, Methos lying on the dirty alley street next to her…dead!

"Oh, no!" Duncan muttered and hurried over.

"Duncan! Oh, Duncan! Thank God! We have to help him, call the police, ambulance, something!" Frantic, she rose to find some help but Duncan grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

"No, stay here."

"Mac, what are you doing?! We have to help him!" she shrieked.

"Calm down, stop screaming. You're going to attract more attention."

Duncan then placed his left hand on Methos' shoulder blade, grasping the knife handle with his right. It took a moment but he finally wrenched the bloody blade from Methos' heart.

Nadya couldn't believe what he was doing. "Are you insane, MacLeod?!"

Duncan didn't reply but just picked Methos up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Come on."

"Where are we going?!"

"Back to the dojo, before someone comes. Hurry!" he replied and walked off in that direction. Nadya had no choice but to follow.

Duncan grimaced underneath his burden.

_Don't you dare wake up, Methos. Not yet. Don't you dare! Or I'll really kill you!_

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"Hmmm, not what I intended but this works just as well. Now she will have to know; MacLeod will have no choice but to tell her. And then I'll claim her, my eternal trophy."

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Back at Duncan's loft, he'd placed Methos on the couch and was struggling to keep Nadya calm, but the dark-haired Scot was finding it difficult to control this one petite woman.

As he was trying to get his voice over her hysterical one, there suddenly came a gasp and a curse from the couch in a dead language or two.

Methos was alive!

Duncan went to him and helped him sit up. The old Immortal grimaced in pain. "Oh, man! It never gets easier. Never!" He then looked down at his torn, bloody shirt. "Well, here's one for the rag pack."

Nadya, meanwhile, blanched and backed away, her hands shaking. "You…you were dead, I saw you. I saw the knife." Mac could tell she was going to start screaming again so he rushed over and put his hand over her mouth to stop her.

"Please don't scream, Nadya. I already have a huge headache." He then took his hand away and made her sit down.

"Duncan, what on earth is going on?" Her voice was pinched, confused, and weak.

Methos looked to MacLeod, who leaned on the window and sighed, defeated.

"Nadya, there's something you have to know."

And so the story began.

It wasn't an easy one to tell. Neither Duncan nor Methos had described the Game to a mortal, even a someday-to-be-Immortal, in a long time. So Mac simply started at the beginning. After several hours, Nadya held up her hand for him to stop.

"Stop it, I can't…it's too much! My brain can't hold any more." She stood up, going to the windowsill and sitting down again, her arms crossed over her chest. "400 years old? I never imagined…"

She then looked to Methos, who had been mostly quiet about his own self. "And you? Your name isn't Adam, is it?"

He shook his head. "My name is Methos."

"How many…?"

"5,000 years." He interrupted her. "Give or take a few centuries…not entirely sure, honestly."

Something then cleared in Nadya's face. "So, you were being serious about Van Gogh?"

Methos chuckled, more out of relief than amusement; she seemed to be warming up to the idea of Immortals.

But Duncan still wasn't comfortable; he hadn't told her about her own imminent Immortality. In fact, he was downright avoiding it. He just stared, rather, at the now clean knife that had stabbed Methos. The handle was of pure ivory, the blade long and razor-sharp, curved somewhat like a scimitar. Anglo-Saxon runes ran along the polished, exotic blade. A blade MacLeod well knew.

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England -- 1707  


"Oy, wench! More wine! I said, 'more wine', ye filthy…!" A large man stood to strike a young barmaid who failed to move fast enough for his liking.

"Easy now. It's no' polite to threaten a lass." A heavy Scottish accent slurred as a heavy Scottish hand fell on the man's shoulder.

Whirling about, he came face-to-face with another tavern patron. Obviously, this one was a Scot. His long black hair gave him a wild sort of look and his strong jaw was set as he rested his hand upon the hilt of a sword.

Seeing the dangerous edge in Duncan's eyes, the man promptly shut his hole and sat down again, not wanting to incur the wrath of that hard hand that had clamped his shoulder so forcefully. The pretty lass nodded her thanks and hurried about her duties amidst the loud, rowdy tavern.

Suddenly, a tingle in his brain made Duncan's smile fall. Another was nearby. Maintaining a casual air, he let his eyes peruse the tavern, looking for the one who was undoubtedly looking for him.

Finally, the Highlander spotted a courtly gentleman seated in a corner of the room. His clothes alone proved that he was no common riff-raff, and he bore a sickening air of arrogance and pride. Arrogance in his position? Pride in his wealth? No. It was his ability. This man believed himself to be untouchable; Duncan could sense it.

He made no move towards the stranger but merely observed him. Brown hair was pulled back neatly in a silken ribbon, revealing a scar that ran across the man's right cheekbone. Not too deep, not too ugly, just…there. A facial feature that many women might consider dashing, including the one seated next to him at the table. His close-set grey eyes were cold, confident, as he turned his gaze from Duncan to attend his lady-friend once more, speaking through thin pale lips that turned up in a mocking smile.

Satisfied with the momentary mental draw, Duncan wandered off to find some food for himself. If there was to be a confrontation it would come later on, when he had a full belly.

Later on that evening, Duncan was making his way to an inn when he heard voices wafting from a nearby alleyway. He paused to listen.

"This way, my dear."

"Why have we stopped, sir?" a sweetly voice asked.

Duncan heard the familiar sound of a dagger being unsheathed.

"What are you doing?" Fright melted the honey.

"You are to be part of my collection, my sweet."

"Collection?!"

"The finest in all the world, so full of fine talent and beauty. You shall make a wonderful addition indeed."

"This is outrageous, Malfoy! Stay away!"

Duncan sighed and quickly stepped out of the shadows, his proximity causing his senses—and those of Malfoy—to spur. "I dinnae believe I hafta say this twice in one day, but it's no' polite to threaten a lass. Even less so a lady."

The gentleman's face frowned, the knife still held in his hand. Duncan's sharp eyes perceived it, a magnificent piece of craftsmanship. It was obviously saved for particular uses.

"You are intruding upon a private interview, sir." Malfoy spoke.

"And you are intruding upon the bounds of decency, sir. Meh lady, if you please." Duncan held his left hand out to the lady, his sword poised in his right.

"I thank you, sir," she breathed into his ear before disappearing into the night.

Malfoy was not pleased. "Might I have the pleasure of your name, my most impertinent friend?"

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Well, then, MacLeod. We shall settle this score another time." Malfoy's arrogance and anger exuded. "Until then!" With a sweep of his cape, he was gone into the darkness.

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Duncan sighed as he rose from the couch. "You're staying here tonight, Nadya. No questions asked." The knife was then placed inside his coat as he headed for the elevator.

"Mac, where are you going?!" Nadya leapt up to follow.

"I'm going to see someone. Stay here! Methos, stay with her." He then pulled the elevator doors closed and pushed the button.

"Aye-aye, Captain." Methos gave a lazy mock salute and sprawled on the couch again.

Sighing, Nadya took a seat again next to him and looked at his shirt. The hole torn by the knife was quite large, unbroken white skin showing through. She then, for a reason unexplainable, reached out and touched the skin through the hole. It was as though she did it to convince herself that it had indeed happened.

"Adam…Methos. Did it…?"

"…like fury!" he answered her unfinished question, wincing a little.

Nadya knit her brows together sympathetically as he looked at him. Finally, she laid her head on his shoulder, a simple gesture of human comfort.

Methos seemed a little taken aback by this but was even more so by her words, "It all seems so pointless."

With that, he slipped his arm around her comfortingly. "I know; it does."

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—Joe's Bar—

"Malfoy, huh? Well, I'll see what I can find, Mac. But why would he go after your friend? She's not Immortal." Joe seemed genuinely confused.

Duncan shrugged. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"What?"

"She's an Immortal-in-waiting, Joe. Malfoy wants to make her his pet, his trophy. He's a collector and I'm thinking that he wants to add a new Immortal to his collection. He tried to kill her, Joe! Methos said he called her his 'immortal beauty'."

Joe shook his head and hobbled out from behind the bar counter. Duncan had become used to—and even comforted by—the man's uneven walk as he leaned heavily on his cane, having lost both his legs in Vietnam.

"This is heavy stuff, MacLeod."

Duncan nodded. "Tell me about it! This Malfoy is dangerous and he obviously knows that Nadya's my friend. He's a sick man, collecting the most beautiful and talented of women over the centuries. Until he tires of them or they grow too old and die."

"So he's looking for an Immortal that he can keep under his thumb. If he gets his hands on Nadya, he won't teach her and she'll look to him for protection." Joe shook his head gravely. "Forced dependence."

"Yeah."

"Anything I find out, Mac, I'll let you know," the Watcher placed his hand on Duncan's shoulder.

"Thanks, Joe."


	3. No Man Is An Island

Chapter 3

..............................................................................

"Tell me! Tell me!" Nadya's voice bordered on whining as she followed Methos out of the elevator and into the dojo.

"Don't do that!" he begged, his hands over his ears.

"I'll stop when you tell me."

"When he tells you what?" Duncan asked, coming out of the office.

"How ugly Helen of Troy really was!" Nadya replied, smiling. She was really beginning to like the idea of a man who had "shared the stage with the Rolling Stones and Julius Caesar".

Duncan laughed and Methos shrugged. "It's not good to speak ill of the dead," the old man said.

"Aw, come on, Methos! You do it all the time!" Mac retorted.

That roguish smile came to Methos' face. "Let's just say that I find it easier to believe that you launched a thousand ships and brought them home again, rather than her," he told Nadya, who then smiled and shook her head at the incorrigible Immortal.

"You are so full of it, Methos!"

She then turned towards the office, whither Duncan had returned. "Mac, please! Can I go out? I am so sick of being cooped up here. It's been a week!"

Duncan sighed. He wanted to keep her safe but he knew he couldn't keep her locked away forever.

Methos saw the predicament and stepped forward, his hands stuck in his jeans pockets as he spoke. "How about I take Nadya out for dinner and a movie?"

Duncan and Nadya both looked at him and he just shrugged. "That way, Nadya will get out, she won't be alone, and you can keep looking for Malfoy."

It sounded feasible.

Thinking for a moment, Duncan then turned to Nadya. "How does that sound to you?"

She smiled. "That sounds great!"

"It's settled then. Shall we?" Methos swept a graceful bow.

"Let's." Nadya replied and took his arm with a laugh.

Duncan watched them leave. "Be careful!"

"Oh, we will." Methos replied, half-turning. "Don't wait up, MacLeod." This last sentence came with a wink that caused Mac to just stare incredulously at the ancient Immortal as he and Nadya walked out the door. He then didn't notice that he was missing something, something that Methos' deft hands had relieved him of…for now.

.................................................................................................

Ring!

"MacLeod." Duncan held the cell-phone in his left hand while he steered the Thunderbird with the right.

"I found him!" Joe's voice came over the phone.

"Where?!"

"He hangs out at the old Clarion club on the posh side of town. Really elite." Joe replied. "Hey, Mac."

"What?"

"Be careful, my friend."

......................................................................................... 

"See, now this is totally wrong! That's not how the battle of Carthage went. I was there! It…"

Nadya pressed her fingers against the Immortal's slim, whispering lips to quiet him. "Shhh! If you don't stop, we're going to have a mob on our hands worse than the ones on the screen."

Methos suddenly found himself smiling and felt an impulsive urge to kiss those slender fingers that rested against his mouth. Then something shot through him and he realized that he hadn't had such an urging since Alexa died.

Nadya watched those eyes of his, wondering how much life, how much emotion and knowledge had passed before and behind those eyes in 5,000 years. She got lost for a while, the movie becoming a murmur in her ears.

The cool, silver light of the projector flickered in Nadya's dark eyes until a sudden scream from the screen made her flinch, breaking the connection between hers and Methos' eyes.

The Immortal blinked and chuckled, glancing down in that charming way he had and scratching his right temple.

"I don't know who or what you are, Methos, but I will tell you something: you are one interesting fellow." Nadya's whisper came with a smirk, half-hidden in the flickering dark.

When the film was over, the couple exited the theatre quickly for there were more than a few annoyed fellow moviegoers.

As they walked through the night-drenched streets of Seacouver, things fell silent between the old man and his companion. And for whatever reason, it stayed that way.

........................................................................................................

Duncan spent the better part of the night staking out the Clarion club. By sidling his way into the graces of several lovely, unsuspecting ladies, the Scot had ascertained that Malfoy was indeed a regular and favorite of the club. But, oddly enough, the glamorous young Hungarian at Duncan's side purred, he had not come in that night.

Nodding his thanks and excusing himself, Duncan finally exited the club sometime after 1am.

Try as he might, MacLeod knew that his elevator doors had no concept of quiet built into them and he despised of waking up Nadya, who was undoubtedly asleep on the couch. But to his surprise, when the elevator doors rattled open, light and emptiness greeted his eyes. No one was there!

"Don't wait up, he says." Mac muttered to himself, throwing his coat down and heading for the bathroom.

.........................................................................................

The midnight oil burned low in a little coffee shop on Canal Street, the only lit windows on the block. Its only occupants were the bleached-blonde boy who was sweeping up and two customers: a petite, dark-haired gypsy and a lanky guy who sprawled over his chair.

The boy with the broom thought them crazy for drinking coffee this late but, then again, "Adam has his own rules of life." Methos knew that his Immortal system would metabolize the caffeine effects of the coffee within an hour or two and that often just made it humorous to him.

"Bobby!" he called the boy over. "If you leave the spare key with me, I'll lock up. Go on home to your bed." The offer was made with a good-natured smile.

Bobby gladly agreed, handing the key over to Methos. "Thanks, Adam! G'night!"

"Good night!" Nadya returned over her hot chocolate.

When the boy had gone, Methos deepened his sprawl and fiddled with his coffee cup.

"You seem to know everyone, just like Duncan." Nadya commented after a while.

Methos shook his head and sniffed lightly. "I know enough to keep me comfortable." He gave a shrug, the beginnings of his apathetic mask. "Don't have much use for people; too many questions."

His guest pursed her lips and set down her mug. "Bull! You need people as much as the next person, Methos. Even us Mortals!"

The sidewall suddenly became very interesting as Methos stared a hole through it; relationships were a sore spot for him, even now. "I am an island, or something like that," he muttered.

"No, you're more of a peninsula because there is a way under your skin." This statement was made very matter-of-factly, though Nadya had no idea as to why she said it.

Silence was the only sound from the other side of the table. Methos didn't like to admit that there was a way to get to him. First Kronos, then Cassandra, then Alexa; he didn't have a good track record with relationships and preferred to steer clear of them for now. But Nadya had proven difficult to put off and Methos often found himself opening up to her unexpectedly. Even with his knowledge of her imminent Immortality and the possibility that they may some day have to face each other, he found himself wanting to look at the world the way she did. She saw it with this curiosity, wonder, and hunger for life that he envied. Alexa had been a bit like that but her time was too short for it to develop to its full beauty; Nadya's was well developed by a greatly active imagination during childhood. Jaded and cynical after 5,000 years, Methos admired Nadya's love of discovery. And he wanted it to remain.

Suddenly, he understood MacLeod. He understood the Scot's fierce desire to protect Nadya's mortality. The Game would destroy that innocent love of life. Now, Methos, too, wanted to protect it, shelter it, and—yes, he had to admit it—even die for it.

"Let's go dancing!" Nadya suddenly stood to her feet, starting Methos out of his reverie.

"Wha—what?" This Immortal was caught totally off-guard.

"Let's go dancing," she repeated herself. That mischievous smile was on her face.

"Now where on earth could you want to go dancing at this hour?" The old man smirked and sprawled again.

"There's a little Latin place just over on Knoll, three blocks. Come on, Methos!"

The sprawl grew still deeper, challenging her enthusiasm, but Nadya had tactics of her own. She shrugged disinterestedly and then headed for the door, "Fine. I'll go by myself if you can't dance."

Seeing his charge intent upon her decision, Methos leapt up, shut off the lights, and locked the door behind them.

"And what makes you think I can't dance?"

................................................................................................

"Nadya! ¡Hola, Nadya!" Several voices greeted the young woman as Nadya and Methos stepped into a saucy little Latin club.

"¡Hola, Maria! ¿Comó estás?" She greeted another young lady who smiled at her, shedding her coat as she sauntered through the club; it was obviously familiar territory to her.

Methos glanced around the interior of the club, inspecting its design. The lights were a creamy mix of red and white. A very large, hardwood dance floor encompassed the majority of the club, with round tables stationed asymmetrically about it, and the bar was situated at the back by the doorway. He stopped there first, naturally. The entire club had a feeling of relaxation and yet drumming excitement. The lusty Latin music seemed to influence the flow of even Methos' blood to its own rhythm as couples danced to and fro, ladies' skirts flying and heels thundering.

Nadya was able to coax the old man to a table but could not get him to dance. While she tried all her little arts, another man came up to her and asked to dance. She nodded, knowing Jacob well, and hurried out onto the dance floor. Methos simply watched, amusement covering his face, and folded his arms as he sprawled back once more.

Nadya stood about a yard from Jacob, her hands on her hips, her chin thrust out almost predatorily. Soon, the strains of guitar and violins chorused through the club in "El Tango de Roxanne". Maria had lent her friend a pair of dancing shoes and now the heels thudded against the wooden floor as Nadya and Jacob brought the impassioned dance to life.

Methos was impressed as he watched Nadya dance; it was obviously something she loved and had worked hard at, for she moved with a natural grace and power that set the floor echoing. When Nadya suddenly spun a pirouette, she ended up facing Methos and the fire in her eyes made the Immortal sit bolt straight up. She had his attention now! As the pace of the dance increased, so did Methos' heartbeat. True, he loved the dance but it had never affected him like this before.

Jacob spun Nadya, twirled her like a top so that she was a blur of color and life. The look on Jacob's face was one of passion and rage, the essence of this tango. Suddenly, he grabbed Nadya as the music climaxed, his hands around her neck and under her chin. With one snap, she fell to the ground…lifeless!


	4. Everlasting Babysitter

Chapter 4

.........................................................................

"So you didn't find him?"

"No. I'll go back tomorrow night and see what I find." Mac slouched on a bar stool at Joe's, sipping the cool bourbon in his glass.

"I hope you get this creature. By the way, where's Nadya?"

"Out with Methos."

Nothing but a chuckle from the other side of the counter.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything, Mac."

"No, Dawson, what is it?"

Joe leaned heavily on his cane, still chuckling. "You sent a vibrant young woman out with an Immortal who has had 68 wives?"

"69." MacLeod echoed Methos' correction without dropping a beat. Then he shrugged and sipped his bourbon. "So?"

"All right." Joe nodded dismissively and continued cleaning the counter. He'd closed up late tonight in anticipation of seeing Duncan.

The Highlander stared into his drink in unsettled quiet for a while before plunking his glass down again. "Do you really think he'd—?"

Again, Joe shrugged. "How should I know? Methos has many layers and we haven't even scratched his surface, I think. I honestly don't know what to expect from him, Mac. But I do know that you can trust him with Nadya's life."

Silence.

Duncan returned to his bourbon, feeling the truth of Dawson's words.

...........................................................................................  
  
England -- 1707

A scream pierced the late afternoon and Duncan raced through the cobblestone streets!

He soon found what he was looking for. A woman lay on the street, blood as red as her dress staining the stones. Her golden hair spilled in tangled ringlets and her cloak was torn, also tainted from the gaping knife wound in her side. It was the same lady that Duncan had rescued the night before.

"She trusted you with her life, MacLeod. See what happens when you interfere with others' affairs?" A man stood not afar off, the knife in his hands dripping with blood that was still warm.

"Why?! Why'd you kill her, Malfoy?!" Duncan drew his sword, anger causing his voice to crack.

"Because she did not please me" was all the answer that Malfoy gave and Duncan succumbed to his rage, attacking the noble Immortal.

Swords clanged and crashed in the streets. Malfoy was experienced, Duncan an only 200-year-old Immortal. But Duncan had matched passion for passion, parrying and thrusting. His mind no longer controlled him, only his sword, as though it had life itself.

Malfoy leapt back, avoiding a violent slice at his throat. He had sensed MacLeod's over-developed sense of honor and sought to exploit it in return for his wounded pride and over-turned plans. Sparks flew as blade met blade in the air and cold grey eyes met enraged brown ones, the combatants nose-to-nose.

Suddenly, there came shouts from the street corners. Soldiers! MacLeod would surely get the short end of the stick if caught, for Malfoy was of noble blood.

"Another day, Malfoy!" he growled and quickly made good his escape.

The soldiers coursed past Malfoy as he caught his breath from the battle. "Another day, MacLeod."

...................................................................................................

Methos leapt from his seat, the glass of beer shattering beneath his feet! Nadya's body lay still on the dance floor, her arms splayed limply over her head, her eyes closed. Methos' hands hovered over her body, fearing to touch her and disbelieving of what his eyes has just seen.

"Nadya? Nadya!" Desperation and fear broke his voice. He'd failed her, he'd failed MacLeod, and he'd never even seen it coming. Tears sprang to his eyes but he refused to give in to them. She would resurrect soon; he had to get her out of there. But first…

The look Methos lavished on Jacob was one not seen since the Bronze Age—all anger, malice, and danger. His mind raced, thoughts becoming irrational flashes of color, mostly murderous red swimming before his eyes. Methos was ready to kill him, mortal or not! They'd have to find him and Nadya to arrest him, much less convict him. If 5,000 years had taught him anything, it was how to disappear—how to hide. A little corner of Luxembourg perhaps. No one would ever look for them there. Not even MacLeod, and Malfoy would never be able to find them. He would be looking for a defenseless mortal girl, not an _Immortal_ one.

Methos bent over Nadya one last time and then began to rise to his feet, his hand reaching for the sword hidden within his coat.

Just then, there came a laugh from beneath him and Methos was shocked when Nadya's brown eyes darted open.

"Nice ending, huh?"

She was alive! No heart-wrenching intake of breath, air filling collapsed lungs; no scream at the sudden pain of re-fusing bones; no shock of life surging through the body like a 1,000-volt stab. Only a mere laugh, a fully mortal laugh.

Methos' annoyance knew no limit. He rose to his feet, tersely silent, and stalked out of the club. Completely confused, Nadya hurriedly returned Maria's shoes, grabbed her coat, and followed at a run.

"Wait! Methos!"

He grabbed ahold of her, pulling her close, his fingers digging into her arms.

"Don't you EVER call me that out here!" he hissed, sounding furious rather than cautious. He then released her, pushing her away from him.

She was completely taken aback. "What's wrong?"

Methos gestured as though to wring her neck angrily. "You…little tart! What was that stunt in there?! I've died a thousand ways, do you want to add a heart-attack to them, too?!" There was no mistaking it; he was pissed!

"It's how the dance goes, Adam!" Nadya spit out the name disdainfully. "It's all rage, jealousy, and anger—and, apparently, it got to you!"

For a moment, Methos was so angry that he could not speak. She had challenged him, made him feel that he had failed. No! He would not fail another woman that he cared about!

She didn't know why but Nadya was hurt and angered by his rage. "Hey, I didn't ask you to baby-sit me, Adam. You offered! So don't get angry at me because you've lost your sense of humor as well as your mortality. I didn't wish this on you. **Remember that!**"

_That hurt!_ And Methos could see that he had hurt her, too.

Pulling her coat tight around her, Nadya stalked off in the direction of the dojo. Methos made to follow her but she immediately turned on him, telling him that she was a big girl and didn't need an eternal babysitter. She then ran off, hailing a cab.

Methos made to follow again but a sudden echo of fire in his brain made him stop, along with a sadistic laugh from down a nearby alleyway. He followed the sound until he spotted a figure looming in the moonlight.

"She's got some fire, hasn't she?" Malfoy's voice echoed off the walls. "Imagine how she'll scream when I give her that first bitter taste of Immortality."

Methos stepped into view from the shadows, brandishing his sword. "You won't have her, Malfoy!"

"Ahhh, so the gallant knight knows his adversary." Malfoy smirked, the scar on his face making his features that much more a cruel mask, armed with a frightening charm.

The Ivanhoe felt like a club in Methos' hand and he wanted nothing more than to slice Malfoy to pieces. For once, he felt the rage and passion of hatred, what he had once told MacLeod he did not have.

"Let's get this over with. I have a charge to look after," he growled, taking his stance.

Malfoy strutted a little, his blade cradled in the crook of his arm. "Why do you care so much? MacLeod is closer to her than you are, and I have a score with him. Why isn't he here?"

"He had a prior engagement. Besides, the lady was my date for the evening."

"And what a Casanova you are, from what I could overhear." He was a mocking son of a devil.

"I believe that you and I have the matter of a certain knifepoint to settle." Methos quickly got the subject off of Nadya.

"Ahh, yes. A family heirloom, quite priceless. I shall have to get it back once you and MacLeod are dead."

"Easier said than done, you'll find."

Malfoy took the hilt of his sword, his hand tightening like a vise as his smirk turned to a rueful frown. "You know, I really dislike other people touching my things, Pierson. Oh, yes. I know who you are, and any friend of MacLeod's is the bane of my existence."

Methos gave that little nod of his. "Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy, but Nadya is not a _thing_, and definitely not an item for your collection."

"Oh, I beg to differ; she is the perfect item."

The two Immortals circled each other like wolves, clashing blades for seconds-only intervals and then separating, sitting back on their haunches. Methos had long learned from Kronos, if nothing else, how to sniff out his opponents' weaknesses, and he soon found Malfoy to be arrogant in battle style as well as personality. He used cuts and thrusts that brought him close to Methos, trusting in his quickness to get him away before the other Immortal could retaliate. Methos adjusted his use of the Ivanhoe accordingly, matching Malfoy move for move.

White-gold sparks suddenly flew as the tip of Malfoy's sword struck the alley wall! Cursing, he wrenched the blade free of the brick crevice and attacked again. Methos could feel his whole body on fire, blood thundering, breath heavy in his lungs. He would end this fight!


	5. Not So Hopeless

Chapter 5

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"Nadya, what are you doing here?" Duncan rose to meet the lone young woman as she entered Joe's bar. "Where's Methos?"

"Somewhere on Knoll Avenue, I think," she replied, walking with Mac over to the bar where Joe leaned, his brows knit together in concern.

"What happened?" he asked and then the phone rang, drawing Joe's attention away as he was quick to answer it. So Nadya gave her explanation to Duncan.

"Methos and I had a fight. It was stupid…but I left," she said quietly, staring down at her hands. She was starting to feel really sorry about what she had said; he had only been trying to take care of her.

"You shouldn't be out by yourself right now, Nadya. Not with Malfoy about," Duncan chided her gently.

"Speaking of Malfoy, his Watcher just spotted him on Knoll, fighting another Immortal. He couldn't make out who it was, though." Joe suddenly returned, his cane thunking on the floor.

"Oh, my—it's Methos!" Nadya exclaimed, leaping up from her seat and making to run for the door.

However, Duncan grabbed her, her hair whipping his face as he whirled her about. "No, you are NOT going out there! Joe, keep her here." With that, MacLeod grabbed his coat and swept out the door to the old man's aid.

..................................................................................................

Methos was tired. Battered, bruised, and bloodied, he just wanted to drop his sword and sleep. Perhaps he should just let Malfoy take his head, end it all, and just rest forever.

But no. If Malfoy took his head and his Quickening, then neither MacLeod nor Nadya would live to see next daylight. No, he had to survive, had to win.

Malfoy saw that his fellow Immortal was beginning to tire and so summoned his strength to make good on the occasion, rushing at Methos with a strong thrust towards his abdomen.

Amazingly, Methos made no attempt to side step or defend himself. Instead, he let down his guard, allowing the sword to run up to the hilt into his stomach!

Malfoy grinned madly. "And so ends gallantry."

"Not quite!" Methos rasped. He then seized Malfoy's hand and thrust the sword firmly into his own flesh so that it held fast. Then, with his opposite hand, he drew a smaller blade from his coat. Malfoy's own dagger! He'd taken it when MacLeod wasn't watching; he hadn't been sure why at the time but now he knew why. Justice was a dish best served cold, cold as steel.

"An eye for an eye!" Methos then ripped the razor-sharp blade across Malfoy's neck, severing skin, veins, muscle, tissue, and bone. The hand he gripped grew limp, releasing the sword as the decapitated form fell to the dirty street.

Letting out an agonized cry, Methos pulled the rapier from his body, letting it clang to the ground. All around him grew misty, charged with energy.

It hurt! By all the deities ever called by name, real or imagined, it hurt! Every bolt of Quickening that ripped through his body killed and resurrected him anew, agony a million times over. His whole body felt on fire as memories and emotions and words not his own passed through his head, sucked deep into his soul and hidden there. Selfishness, sadism, pride, envy, all Malfoy's traits and character dissipated within Methos into oblivion, never to rise again.

Above him, streetlights exploded and burst into flame, sparks flying everywhere amidst crashes of thunder rivaled only by the Immortal's own pain-filled cries.

Finally, it was over.

Duncan arrived only in time to be too late. Following a "power surge", he entered the alleyway only to find Methos on his knees, panting laboriously, surrounded by three blades: his Ivanhoe, Malfoy's rapier, and the dagger.

"Is…is she safe?" were the first words that the old Immortal rasped out as Duncan helped him to his feet.

"Yes. Yes, my friend. She's safe. Thanks to you."

Methos grimaced as Duncan supported him, rising to his feet. "You know, I've said it once and I'll say it again: I'm getting too old for this."

Duncan laughed shortly and then his eyes lit on the bloody dagger. "Hey, I was looking for that!"

"I borrowed it. Poetic justice and all that jazz." There was cynical old Methos again.

"So, tell me, were you a thief in another life, Methos?" Mac asked as they made their way towards the car, the Ivanhoe hanging limply in the old man's hand.

"MacLeod, you have no idea."

.......................................................................................................... 

Methos didn't see Nadya the next day. In fact, he stayed away completely until he'd had time to process what they'd fought about. Finally, he was ready.

When he entered the dojo, he found Nadya doing a beautiful dance with three yards' length of gauzy red cloth—a dance of veils. It was then that he remembered what impressed him about this Immortal-in-waiting: her love, her hunger for life. Leaning against the doorpost, he watched her move. Every step was a move of fluidity, grace and emotion.

The dance ended with her arms extended over her head, the cloth falling and framing the perimeter of her body. Then Methos approached her, applauding.

"Ahh, my knight returns to take his thanks." She welcomed him with open arms, the cloth draped over her slender shoulders. The sports top and loose linen pants made her look lithe and almost kitten-like, wisps of her hair falling into her face.

Methos shook his head. "I'm no knight. I'm just what you said I am or at least implied: a selfish old man who stays away from everyone because he's afraid of people getting to him."

She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her.

"I'm sorry, Nadya. You...uh…you were right. There is a way to get to me, though it's different for different people, and I hate to admit it. After 5,000 years, I've learned to look out only for myself, fewer people to hurt. And, if I do get close, it always hurts, no matter who the person. But I can't stay away from it. Life alone is just that…alone. If I am to live forever, then I want people like you and MacLeod and Dawson around." Then he smirked. "Besides, it keeps things interesting and MacLeod's such a boy scout that he needs someone to off-set him, hmm?" There was the Methos that Nadya knew and had come to appreciate.

Nadya looked up into that face, those eyes that had seen more 5,000 years and yet didn't look a day over 28. Reaching up, she touched his nose, that unique nose that he seemed so fond of looking at her down. He sort of scrunched up his face as she did, just the reaction she was looking for. Involuntary and yet playful. "Thank you, Adam. I think we understand each other a lot better now."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. "Methos. Call me Methos."

She merely smiled again at this gesture of trust and gave a nod identical to his. Then it was as if someone has just un-paused life because Nadya then began discoursing some fact or the other about Kafka, which Methos immediately refuted.

From within the unlit dojo office, effectively shrouded in the darkness, Duncan emerged to stand in the doorway and smile. Perhaps this wasn't such a hopeless time for new Immortals after all.


End file.
